Friday, August 31, 2018

My last post was entitled strong?. I posted in the middle of the night last night and when I got up this morning to do my devotional, here is what I read:

Grow strong in your weakness. Some of my children I've gifted with abundance strength and stamina. Others, like you, have received the humble gift of reality. Your fragility is not a punishment, nor does it indicate a lack of faith. On the contrary week ones, like you, must live by faith depending on me to get through your day. I am developing your ability to trust me, to lean on me rather than your understanding. Your natural preference is to plan out your day, knowing what will happen when. My preference is for you to depend on me continually, trusting me to guide you and strengthen you as needed. This is how you grow strong in your weakness.

Taken from "Jesus Calling, Enjoying Peace in his Presence" by Sarah Young.

Thursday, August 30, 2018

I keep hearing people tell me I'm strong. I went to dictionary.com and looked up the definition of the word strong because that's not how I feel. I don't know if I really fit any of the 25 different definitions. Is it strong to get up every day? Is it because I'm still working and being a mom? I don't know if that's strong or just what I need to do. If that's the definition of strong then many people I know are strong. There are people fighting worse battles than I am that do more than I do that I would say they are strong.

I have a strong faith.

I have a strong trust in God.

I have a strong belief that everything happens for a reason, according to a plan.

But maybe I am strong in the eyes of others because they see me showered, dressed and out of bed. They see me at work. They see me being a mom. Maybe they don't feel they could be doing those things if they had lost their husband. Maybe they wish they could have the faith I have and believe that it's all going to be okay. It is what it is. I may never understand the reason why, but it doesn't mean I have to stop living or trusting God.

Their eyes that don't see the rest of me. They don't see me cry in the shower when I smell the body wash. They don't see me cry when I hear songs on the radio. They don't see me cry when I sit and watch the sunset. They don't see me cry when it's late at night and I can't sleep. They don't see me cry when I want to tell Steve something and then remember he's gone. They don't see me sit in his truck and eat an entire container of ice cream. Maybe they see the tears while I pray in church. Maybe they see a hint starting when people ask how the boys are. Maybe they read this blog and can sense the grief.

So maybe I am strong by some people's definition, but my heart feels weak some of the time. I sometimes wish I had the strength to be stronger for other people as they grieve too. To offer comfort and advice.

I don't share a lot of this with anyone because I don't want sympathy. I don't want people to be proud of me because I'm strong.

I need to grieve. They need to grieve. And maybe we all just do it a little different.

I have a lot of coping strategies that are helping me get through too. I read, write and keep a journal. I pray and keep going to church. I meditate and do restorative yoga. I speak with a therapist. I take pictures. I get massages. I eat ice cream in front of the TV. I cry and I laugh.

Sunday, August 19, 2018

8 months today. I had a hard morning at church and then I realized that it was 8 months ago. I still don't know why some days are harder than others and why some days it seems easy. I also don't know why sometimes I don't want it to be easy. I'd like to just lay in my bed and cry.

I heard from another woman who lost her husband at a really young age that the second year is harder. You make it through the first year knowing that it's going to be rough and then you think it'll be better and it's not. I believe this to be true because I thought it was better at 7 months and now it's awful again at 8.

Lots of things are changing at my house. I've cleaned up some things and put some things in boxes. I'm changing a job. My boys will be going to different school buildings. I hope to get a new normal established.

It's weird to not go and set up his classroom this week to be ready for orientation. I always hung the huge ruler on the wall, the alphabet of math terms above the bulletin board and his Green Bay Packer curtains on the closet doorways. I put up some cute saying outside of his door. I set out pictures of me and the boys. I feel like I added the personality to his classroom.

His grade level team has changed a lot this year with Steve dying and another teacher retiring. I hope this September they can start to find their new normal.

Background

In December of 2017 my husband suddenly stopped breathing and my world changed. I unexpectedly became a widow and a single parent to three amazing boys. This story is about how my faith has kept me going emotionally, how I dealt with the paperwork and finances, how I continued my teaching career and how I raised my children alone.

I am only an expert in my situation. I am not an undertaker, a pastor, a financial adviser, a medical professional or an insurance agent. You will need to do what is right for you and your situation when the time comes and it may not be what I did and that is okay! We each live our own story.